


pretty, fucked up

by Anonymous



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Come play, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Felching, Fuckbuddies, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Penetration, ahh these tags are pretty dark?, hopefully it's not so bad?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 18:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Two years after a botched rescue attempt turned kidnapping, Peter Parker struggles to grow past his traumas.His adulthood is defined by the loss of his manhood, his future is marked by nightmares from his past. His body changed as it, isn't him. He turns to sex to mend the broken pieces of himself.All in all, he's pretty fucked.





	pretty, fucked up

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. This is my first smut work, so I apologize if it's not really stimulating, or if it's too weird to be enjoyed?
> 
> I also apologize if it's not an accurate portrayal of trauma. 
> 
> Additionally: I made Peter blond and blue-eyed, purely for the aesthetic. This has absolutely no basis in either the comics or the movies. I'm also kind of a passive fan of both series? So this is high key out of character. 
> 
> Ah. Thanks for clicking on this! I hope it helps pass time.

Peter Parker is stretched over his doorframe, all tight high-rise jeans, and toned midriff, a lollipop dangles from his plush lips. Wade takes a step back, then another. Peter’s smile is innocent enough when he plops the candy from his red lips, but the action combined with the lusty look he gives Wade, tangles something in his chest. Peter’s simultaneously innocent and naughty, all wind tossed golden curls and wide blue eyes, against jeans which leave nothing to the imagination and his hungry gaze.

“Hey,” he says, “you wanted to hang?”

Then Wade grins, sharp and full and teeth. “I think that's more _your_ speed, Spidey boy.”

"I don't hang," Peter bristles. "I _swing._ " 

Wade chuckles. "And you can show me how you swing,  _inside_." He leads him past the entryway and closes the door.

 

* * *

 

Two years ago, mutant children across the country, hell, across the _world,_ went missing. Some were conditioned into soldiers, some were sold in the sex trade, some were experimented on.

They all had been re-arranged and disassembled.

Spider-man hadn’t been thinking of his personal safety when he went after an unmarked vehicle. He didn’t think that superheroes could be victims too.

It had taken three weeks for his captors to break him, to change him.

It had taken three weeks for the Avengers to find him, half-starved – half-rabid, too skinny, too skittish. A jumble of bandages and tubes.  
Maybe Peter had been better off – after all, the only physical change he’d suffered had been to his genitalia.  
                                                                                         

* * *

 

It was maybe six months later when he asked Wade to fuck him – and to fuck him hard.

Wade had laughed. He didn’t fuck kids (sure Peter Parker was 18, but really? Besides the point), and sure as hell wasn’t going to do it to someone who didn’t know what he was asking for.

“Wade. I – I need to get o-over this.” His hands shook as he gestured to himself.

“Reliving your trauma will make it better?” he asked incredulously.

“It’s not reliving?” Peter bit his lip. “It’s more like reclaiming it. I want to have sex one day and enjoy it, without thinking … without thinking about what happened back then. They’ve already taken too much from me, I don’t want them to have my future too.”

Wade dragged his hand over his face. “Have you considered therapy?”

Peter made a face. “Stark makes me see his personal therapist twice a week.” He catches Wade’s eye, “I’m not asking for you to talk me through my problems, I’m asking you to _fuck_  me.”

Wade surveys the boy, he’s resolute about this. There’s no doubt that Peter is handsome, all delicate features and bright blond.

There’s no doubt that he’s self-destructive, and that he’s been through hell and back. Wade sighed. He always did admire that ass.

“I’ll do it.”

Peter smiles shyly. He crosses the threshold of Wade’s apartment.  
                                                                                      

* * *

  
It helps with the pain. Both of their respective hurts – Peter gets his closure mixed with the punishment he thinks he deserves, Wade, expresses the cruelty he likes to pretend doesn’t exist within him – both of them explore their breaking points.

They’ve been fuck buddies ever since. 

 

* * *

  
Peter ruts against Wade’s clothed erection, his own jeans and sweater are still intact and his hands are bound behind his back, even as the lollipop stretches his mouth obscenely. Wade has his hands under Peter’s sweater, he traces up and down and his back, he draws constellations between his moles, he pays special attention to (thankfully) old scars. He likes to see that his baby boy is getting better at taking care of himself, that the once bruise purple bags beneath his eyes had faded to a duskier color. He also thinks that his slut could be taking it better. He claps him hard over one of his round globes, getting the boy to jolt, and shift forward. Peter’s breath hitches and the lollipop almost tumbles out of his mouth. He slaps him again on the other ass cheek and fondles it, so perky, so round, and so abysmally  _slow._

  
When Peter gasps, the candy balances over his lip, and when Wade traces the crack of his jeans, he groans, the candy dribbles on past his sweater.

“You know,” he murmurs, sticking his thumb between the other’s sticky lips, “I thought a whore like you was supposed to like dick,” he calmly plucks the candy from his shirt.

“It seems like you like this – this treat more.” He adds another two fingers to his teeth to drag that jaw open.

  
“Wow, look at. You aren’t even gagging,” He lifts the digits, but pushes them further down his mouth effectively blocking his air stream. Peter’s cheeks swell. “Do you just want something to suck on? Is that all I am to you?”  
Peter doesn’t say anything, he can’t.

  
“I’ll give you something for both that hungry mouth and ass. And maybe? If you’re lucky, I’ll fuck your clitty with this.” He twirls the candy in his hand, and takes his other out of Peter’s mouth to wrap the treat with plastic. The thought of Peter – all holes filled – excites him, he tugs him forward, and the younger writhes against him – all pleasure and friction and tight, tight – “ _fuuuck_.” Peter bounces, and then he comes down, and then Wade is coming, coming, his jeans are ruined, and Peter’s looking at him, kind of wide eyed and still so fucking innocent, resting on his chest even as his legs are spread and hugging him tight.

  
Wade combs his fingers through his curls. “You, dirty, dirty boy, look what you’ve done.”

  
“Hmm. I didn’t do anything I wasn’t supposed to.”

  
“Made a mess of me and you, that’s what you did.” Peter only smiles sweetly in response.

Wade fondles his ass, tisking at its wetness. He tugs the ends of his pants, leaving a mess of stringy fabric and drenched underwear on his lap. He takes a moment to admire his handiwork – how the boxers are splotched and wrinkled – before tearing that too. It’s not long before Peter’s top is mere scraps, revealing his perk nipples. It’s not long before Wade has him bound and blindfolded in the scraps of his clothing and kneeling on his floor.

Then he leaves, making Peter a lonely island in the middle of his living room floor. Logically Peter knows that at most its been twenty minutes, but it feels like hours, hours of being stretched thin. The air conditioner turns on the middle of his wait, getting cool air to ghost his nipples and his exposed entrance.

Wade returns and chuckles, catching him in the act of shifting against the floor. “You really are eager, aren’t you boy? Getting turned on by my carpet?”

There’s a click sound, as Wade adjusts something. Then Wade is back with some kind of warm oil, that he rubs all over his nipples and chest. He does it first in small smooth circles but eventually starts to lightly need them, pinching and rolling his nipples. Peter is sucking hard on the underwear stuffed in his mouth to prevent himself from crying out, it’s all musk and salt, and this alone builds tension in his gut. But then something cold tightens against both of his nipples, and he groans.

Wade is reaching into his mouth and dragging the makeshift gag out of it.

“Open your mouth,” he grunts, and Peter complies, even as he squeezes the filthy mixture of slick and spit into that space between his lips, and cups his mouth close, so Peter’s forced to gulp it down. Then he’s forcing something long, and wet and silicone, and where the gag had been. It’s too long, he can’t close his mouth around even the first quarter of it. He’s panting as Wade stretches his jaw, forcing him to accommodate until his throat is completely stuffed. He thinks that it’s attached to straps that bind to his head, but all he can focus on is the saccharine taste of what is in his mouth.

He’s lost in hazy bliss, but he can feel himself being moved as Wade shifts his position so his butt is more easily accessible. That warm oil is back, Wade massages, rolls and lifts his ass, but lays the rest of him flat. Peter thinks that Wade’s fingers are coated in the warm viscous mixture, he can hardly feel how rough and rigid is, though he can admire its girth as it pokes at his hole, and slowly inching his way into him. There’s a murmur of appreciation as his finger is sucked in. And when he curls it, Peter can’t help it, he mewls, he ruts against the carpet again, the warm sensation covering his ass, his nipples, his mouth, seems to grow, coating him in a hot vicious need, and it only intensifies as Wade adds fingers.

“I’m going to give you two pussies, how about that?” he growls close to his ear, he’s fisting him, fucking him with his hand, and Peter is keening over the dildo gag capping his mouth. He’s so pink, Wade marvels, watching the body flush deeper with each pounding. His anus turns a gorgeous scarlet, and then he pulls out, watching it wink and flex, as though meaning to draw him back in.

  
Wade’s not going to give Peter the pleasure of feeling him in him, no, if he wanted his dick, he would have earned it. But he _is_ going to give him the next best thing. Wade stands up and jerks himself off into a jar, a big jar, and he’s a big guy, so he comes hard, it splatters over Peter’s back, even as most of it collects into the container.

It’s fascinating how his ass swallows the entirety of it when he pours it in.

He grabs his next toy, a vibrating dildo covered in the same aphrosiac cream as the other, and just as big. Peter’s greedy ass consumes it easily.  
Peter might be moaning, his head is thrown back to accommodate for the first toy’s size, his curls are disheveled and sheened with sweat. His throat is relaxed, he’s getting used to it.

Wade takes his time playing with his vaginal entrance, intentionally missing the folds, even as he turns the vibrator on, from low to high to medium, to low and high, and back again. Peter’s so loose by the time Wade teases his entrance with his precious lollipop. But his lower lips suck it in just as hard as the upper ones had.

He leaves the vibrator on high for ten minutes, he loves how loose he is, how inhibited, rutting over the floor, into the candy. He wants a picture so he takes one. He cradles the feeling, of ruining something so pure, so perfect. He’s so debauched.

Wade knows that he’s sick.

He’s as fucked up as the man who made Peter this way.

He gradually lowers the intensity of the vibrations until Peter stops moving altogether. Then carefully, he removes the lollipop and the dildos, the scraps of clothing, the nipple clamps. Peter hangs limply in his arms, and his eyes remain closed as Wade warms up the bath. As he lathers the soap and rinses it off. As he scrubs him down, as he dries him off.

It’s only a half hour later, when Peter’s dressed in a baggie hoodie and pajama pants, and cradled in Wade’s nicest sheets, that he looks to Wade with half-lidded eyes. He still looks dazed. He licks his lips, and flushes. Wade is on the other side of the bed, watching some teen drama intently.

“Thank you” Peter murmurs, and the soft timbre breaks Wade’s heart.

“Baby boy, you know I didn’t mean any of the things I said right?”

Peter nods in affirmation.

“Baby boy, you know you have to tell me when we’ve gone too far, right?”

Peter nods again. He looks down at his hands. He swallows. “I felt … I feel … filthy.”

  
That’s how he said he wanted to feel when they talked over the phone the other day, he wanted to be filled and soiled, he needed to be so blissed out that he’d be unaware of it.

“I mean … but I am? I am pretty dirty,” he continued. “I have these … fetishes … I have this past. I’m so – so.”

Wade curls around him, or rather - around the blanket burrito that Peter is tucked into - he rubs his shoulder, making sure to have a shield of blanket between them. He knows that Peter hates touch after sex. He lets Peter cry into him, he rubs circles into his back. 

“I’m fucked,” Peter croaks. “I’m so fucked.”

 


End file.
